


The Perils of Guard Duty

by Khentkawes



Category: The Musketeers (2014)
Genre: At least it was supposed to be hurt/comfort, Fainting, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Pre-Series, Prompt Fill
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-06-01
Updated: 2016-06-01
Packaged: 2018-07-11 13:16:44
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,034
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7053286
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Khentkawes/pseuds/Khentkawes
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Athos and Porthos find it amusing when new recruits faint during guard duty. They don't, however, find it amusing when Aramis does. Not funny at all.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Perils of Guard Duty

**Author's Note:**

> Prompt fill. A few months back, there were two different “Aramis fainting” prompts on the kink-meme. Like an idiot, I started writing fills for both of them. This is what I wrote for the second prompt; I hope it’s not too self-indulgent. I still have a half-written fill for the first fainting prompt I saw, but I can’t decide if it’s worth finishing. Anyone interested and think I should finish, or is one Aramis-fainting story sufficient?
> 
> Also, I’m dying to write post-series-3 fic right now. It’s killing me, but I’m trying to finish some other WIPs first. So many things demanding to be written! Ugg.

“See that one over there?” Porthos said, with an almost imperceptible nod.

Athos flicked his gaze in the direction indicated, squinting against the glare of the sun as he quietly assessing the young apprentice musketeer who stood across the courtyard on guard duty. Athos looked him up and down, noting the slight sway in the recruit’s stance.

“I give him an hour at most, probably less.”

“Naw, he’ll be able to last ‘til mid-afternoon, I’d say.”

The responding snort of disagreement was so soft that Porthos almost missed it.

“Wanna place a wager on it?” Porthos waggled his eyebrows, grinning with mischief.

“And what would you propose?”

“Ten sous? You say one hour, an’ I say three, so whoever’s closest wins.”

“I accept.”

It wasn’t nice perhaps, but it amused them nonetheless. They would all be standing guard most of the day, after all. While Porthos and Athos would change stations after several hours, the new recruits would be standing at their posts for the better part of the day with no relief. It was a thankless duty coming on the heels of several weeks of hard training. Given the summer heat and the length of time they were expected to stand for guard duty, it would be nothing short of a minor miracle if none of the recruits fainted by day’s end. Still, it was part of their duty as apprentice musketeers and, in its own way, a rite of passage.

It was also a necessity. The king was meeting with various nobles throughout the day, and while Tréville would be inside the palace with a complement of musketeers (and the Cardinal’s annoyingly ever-present red guards) to ensure the safety of their majesties, the amount of foot traffic in and out of the palace also necessitated guards at every major entrance and stationed about the grounds to keep an eye out for suspicious activities. One never knew what a disgruntled noble might do, let alone their staff and servants who were forced to wait outside the palace grounds. And then there was the possibility of someone impersonating a servant to sneak in amidst the hustle and bustle. They had no credible information that led them to suspect anything untoward, but it was always best to be prepared.

Still, that did not alleviate the hours of boredom that lay ahead of them until the last of the nobles would finally depart.

“What about that group along the south side?”

“What of them?” Athos asked.

“Well, they’ll have the sun on them most of the day.” Athos hummed his agreement. “So which one of ‘em do you think will be the first to go down?”

“Lemaire, I suspect. He barely made it through that training session last week.”

“Well, ta’ be fair, you did thrash him twice in a row.”

“He needed the practice.”

“I’d lay money on Tolbert. He didn’t seem right this mornin’. No way he’ll make it through the afternoon heat.”

“Is that another wager I hear?”

“An’ what if it is?”

“Then I would be obliged to accept.”

Porthos chuckled. “Good. You better have a few livre you’ve been hiding in your purse, ‘cause you’ll be in my debt before the day’s done.”

“We’ll see about that, my friend.”

Porthos was, of course, counting on his good luck to sustain him. By the time they’d finished betting, it was quite likely he’d wager more than he had to spare. He only had a few coins left from last month’s pay. Athos knew it too. But it wouldn’t prevent either of them from engaging in a bit of friendly fun at the expense of some raw recruits.

Within a few hours the sun was beating down on them mercilessly, made bearable only by a constant breeze, and the full bet was nearly up to two livre. But before either of them could commit any more coin that they did not currently possess, they saw Cornet enter the courtyard and head directly towards them, another musketeer following close behind him.

Cornet had been among the musketeers stationed on the other end of the palace. He and Aramis would spend the day alternating between guarding the exterior entrance through which the king’s petitioners would enter, and guarding the corridor outside the king’s reception hall. If Cornet had left his post to seek them out, it must mean Tréville wished a report on the situation outside. Unless something more sinister had occurred inside the palace.

They had little time to speculate, as Cornet was soon upon them, waving at his companion who moved to take their place. “The two of you are relieved of your station. Come with me.”

Exchanging quick looks, they moved to follow him.

“Has something happened?” Athos asked.

“Yes, but not what you’re thinking. The king is secure. But…” Cornet cast a quick glance around the courtyard and saw several musketeers watching them carefully. He lowered his voice and urged them on. “Tréville needs the two of you to escort a musketeer back to the garrison.”

Athos’s lips quirked into a quick grin. “Does he now?”

Porthos chuckled softly. “Ah, well, that was quick. Who’s our fainting beauty this time? An’ don’t leave us to guess. Athos an’ I have money riding on this answer.”

Cornet gave him a sharp look, but didn’t answer until they’d crossed the courtyard and passed through the doorway, out of earshot of any guards (musketeer or otherwise) who might be listening for gossip.

“I doubt you’ll be so gleeful when I tell you,” Cornet said.

His words were enough to give them pause, both Athos and Porthos feeling their stomachs drop in twin sensations of dread.

“What happened?” Athos asked again, the tinge of humor suddenly absent from his voice.

Cornet sighed. “It’s Aramis.” He said nothing more, but there was no need to encourage Athos and Porthos to hurry, both quickening their steps. They followed Cornet up a flight of stairs and through a stuffy corridor. Athos noted the closed windows, meant to keep out any prying eyes, but in this case also trapping the heat inside the palace walls. It was almost worse than being outside; at least in the courtyard they’d had a bit of a breeze to stir the air.

They finally came to a small alcove tucked around the corner from the entrance to the king’s reception hall. There they found Aramis, sitting on the floor, back against the wall and his head hanging between his knees, hands buried in his hair.

Porthos didn’t wait for an explanation, nearly diving across the floor to land at his friend’s side. He didn’t even register the other musketeer who moved aside to make room for him.

“He came around a moment ago,” the musketeer said. “Seemed coherent enough, if a bit dazed. Probably no harm done, but the captain still wanted him sent back to the garrison for the remainder of the day.”

Aramis didn’t say anything, didn’t even look up, though they could see his fingers moving slightly where they were buried in his hair. Porthos batted his hands away so that he could place his own hand at the back of Aramis’s neck, massaging gently while Athos knelt at his other side, resting one hand on his shoulder.

“Aramis?” Athos asked softly. He squeezed his shoulder. “Are you with us?”

A low groan, almost a whine, escaped Aramis’s lips and he nodded slightly. A few deep breaths and then… “I’m fine. Really. I just…was a bit dizzy. I’ll be all right in a moment.”

Athos looked to Cornet, who shrugged. “It was more than a bit of dizziness. We were stationed outside at the time, just beyond the outer doors. Had been for a while, as it was nearly time to switch posts and return inside. I saw him start to sway, but before I could react, he hit the ground like a rock. Gave himself a pretty good knock on the way down too. It startled me for a moment. I wasn’t sure what happened.” He gave Aramis a long, assessing look, as if summing him up. “I had him moved in here to revive him.”

“That’s it?” Porthos looked up at Cornet, skeptically, then returned to scrutinizing Aramis as if checking for hidden wounds. “Anything else happen you forgot to mention?” Aramis shook his head. “You’re sure, now? Maybe something you ate that seemed off?”

Aramis hesitated, looking up to glance from Porthos to Athos. His eyes were slightly glassy.

“It’s a fair question,” Athos said, as if encouraging Aramis to speak. “If someone sought to infiltrate the palace, perhaps they thought that incapacitating you would be enough of a distraction. They could have slipped something in your food or…”

“No.” Aramis shook his head. “It’s not that.”

“Are you sure? You haven’t noticed anything suspicious?”

“No,” Aramis snapped. “And it couldn’t have been poisoned food; I haven’t eaten since last night.” He saw Porthos raise an eyebrow and Aramis hastened to explain. “I left the garrison early, before breakfast this morning, to help secure the palace perimeter. We were in a hurry.”

“An’ you’re sure there’s nothing else?” Porthos pressed. “You haven’t been ill and not said anything about it?”

Aramis shook his head and looked away, head drooping as he refused to meet anyone’s gaze.

Porthos gripped him by the shoulders, turning Aramis to face him even if he wouldn’t look up willingly. “Aramis?”

“I fainted,” he said flatly. When no one responded, Aramis let out a huff of exasperation and pulled away, pushing himself to his feet somewhat shakily. He leaned one hand against the wall to steady himself and waved off Athos’s attempt to help him.

“If you must know, it’s merely fatigue.” Aramis finally looked them both in the eye and raised his chin with just a hint of defiance. “I’ve been tired of late. And as I said, I hadn’t eaten today. Then I spent hours standing around on guard duty, waiting for something to happen when it clearly isn’t going to. And so I fainted.” He shrugged, attempting to look nonchalant as he averted his gaze again. “It should spice up a boring day at least. And I’d think you two would be happy enough. I know how it amuses you when the recruits faint whilst on guard duty.”

Porthos grabbed him by the chin and forced Aramis to look him in eye. “That’s different.”

“How?” Aramis challenged.

“They’re not you.”

Cornet cleared his throat, forcing everyone to turn and look at him. “I hate to interject, but I daresay, Aramis, you’ve been working twice as hard as any of those recruits this past week—especially since you’ve taken over most of the training exercises for Tréville.”

“While you’ve done what now?” Porthos demanded. Aramis frowned and looked away.

“I thought Tréville was overseeing their training?” Athos added. “I know you were meant to assist him these past few days while we set up the guard stations and duty rotations, but…”

“I was assisting him,” Aramis said. “Until the king needed him for some urgent business at the palace. I never did hear what it was about, but he was livid afterwards. A row with the cardinal, I suspect. Whatever it was, it’s kept him busy most of the week, so I’ve...”

“Been taking over training sessions and working yourself sick?”

Aramis glared. “I’m not sick.” He pushed off from the wall, clearly intending to stalk off in the opposite direction in an attempt to avoid the rest of this conversation. Unfortunately, his body didn’t seem amenable to his plans, as he stumbled slightly, then stopped, leaning one hand against the wall and breathing shallowly.

Porthos reached out to touch his shoulder. “Aramis?”

“It’s nothing. Just…” he trailed off.

“Dizzy?” Athos asked. Aramis nodded, eyes closed tightly as if to keep out the spinning sensation that had wreaked havoc on his normally exceptional balance.

Cornet gave them a nod and then gestured towards the door. “Take him back to the garrison, gentlemen. We can handle matters here,” he waved back to the hallway where his companion had already disappeared, returning to take up Aramis’s post. “We have half the regiment on duty, so it will be a small matter to adjust the guard stations. It will be like you three aren’t even missing.”

“How reassuring to know that we aren’t needed,” Aramis quipped, sarcasm bleeding through his weariness.

“I didn’t mean it like that,” Cornet began.

“Pay him no mind,” Athos said drily. “He’s always surly when he’s unwell. I’d say that you grow used to it, but…” Athos shrugged noncommittally.

Aramis attempted to glare at him, but the result was more cross-eyed than intimidating.

Porthos scooped Aramis’s hat off the floor, deposited it on his head and looped an arm around his shoulders, ushering him away from the others. “Come on, then. Let’s get you off to rest somewhere.” Aramis grumbled something about how he didn’t need a nursemaid as Porthos hummed and nodded, herding him with the skill of a sheep dog.

Athos cast a long-suffering look at Cornet, who merely nodded and returned to his station.

Once they’d exited the palace, using a discreet entrance so their presence wouldn’t draw unwanted attention, Athos and Porthos had little trouble leading their charge back to the garrison. If anything, he grew more compliant along the way. This was, unfortunately, less reassuring and more worrisome. A quiet and compliant Aramis was not a natural occurrence.

Nonetheless, they ushered him into the garrison and up to his quarters, steering Aramis into his room. Athos plucked his hat from his head and tossed it onto the table. Normally, that would be enough to force an indigent protest from Aramis’s lips, but today he said nothing. Moving automatically, as if his mind were elsewhere, Aramis removed his weapons belt and deposited it on the chair before moving to the side of the bed, sinking down to sit heavily on the edge. Leaning forward, elbows resting on his knees, Aramis seemed to take a few moments to steady himself, breathing deeply.

Athos and Porthos said nothing, regarding him silently. Athos cast a quick glance to Porthos and saw his own concern mirrored in his friend’s expression. Porthos kept his eyes glued on Aramis as if afraid he’d suddenly collapse at any given moment.

“You don’t have to stay,” Aramis said, breaking the silence though he kept his head bowed.

“Of course we do,” Porthos replied. “Where else should we be, eh?”

“Perhaps somewhere having a good laugh at my expense?”

Porthos looked like he’d been slapped. “Why would you think that?”

Aramis shrugged. “I’m sure it was your first thought. You’d expected some green recruit who couldn’t handle a simple guard duty. And instead it was…well…” He looked away, suppressing a grimace. “I can’t imagine what it took to hold back a laugh when you saw me there.”

“Aramis,” Athos said seriously. “The only thing we were holding back was our concern at finding you unwell…and perhaps relief that it was not something worse.”

Aramis looked up then, head cocked to one side and frowning in confusion.

“It’s the truth, Aramis,” Porthos insisted. “When Cornet said it was you…I thought my heart stopped for a moment, there.”

The look on Aramis’s face, hesitant and confused, with a line of pain between his eyes as he squinted, was enough to make Porthos sigh in frustration.

“Come on, now. Let’s feed you and then let you get some sleep. Athos, if you’d check his him over while I go…” Porthos gestured behind him to the garrison kitchens.

“Of course, “Athos said, moving to sit beside Aramis as Porthos exited the room.

The look of confusion still hovered in Aramis’s eyes. Athos reached out to place a hand on his shoulder, turning him slightly to allow better access to the back of his head, and Aramis flinched.

“What are you…?”

“You hit your head,” Athos reminded him.

“I did?”

“Yes. When you fell? Cornet said you hit the ground hard.”

“Ah, yes.” Aramis waved a hand dismissively. “It’s nothing. Hardly worth your concern.”

“Funny. I doubt you’d let me off with such a pitiful excuse.” Athos tiled Aramis’s head, running his fingers through his hair as he checked for injuries. No blood. That was a good sign.

“Well, you don’t typically faint during a simple guard duty. Ow.” Aramis broke off, glaring up at Athos who held up his hands in surrender.

“My apologies. You have a nasty bump, but nothing appears to be broken or bleeding.”

Aramis took that as permission to shove Athos’s hands away and scoot aside, putting some distance between them. “It’s as I said: I’m fine.”

Athos didn’t bother to respond, although a sarcastic little huff was enough to clearly express his feelings on the matter.

Porthos soon returned with the food, and they coaxed Aramis to eat as much as they could. Even so, he hadn’t finished his plate before his attention began to drift and from his current position, perched on the edge of the bed, it appeared as though he might slump over and sprawl across the floor.

“Come on, you,” Porthos said, seizing Aramis’s plate and passing it to Athos who set it aside on the table. Porthos then grabbed Aramis by the legs, swinging them around to leave Aramis lying on the bed.

“What are you—oof.” Aramis blinked up at him. “What was that for?”

“Figured I’d make sure you were reclining before you lost consciousness this time.”

“Very funny I’m not…” Aramis yawned. “…I’m not that pitiful, my friend.”

Athos raised one eyebrow, managing to convey more sarcasm with one look than most men could with words. The pout Aramis produced in response was equally eloquent.

Porthos grinned at the exchange, but the grin soon faded as he looked at Aramis, seeing his face lined with fatigue and the squint that spoke of a pounding headache.

“Why didn’t you tall us you’d taken over the training sessions for Tréville?”

Aramis sighed. “It didn’t come up.”

“We could have assisted,” Athos offered.

“You had your own duties.”

“As did you.”

“An’ besides, we’re always better off together. Between the three of us, those recruits wouldn’t have stood a chance,” Porthos added.

Aramis scoffed. “You mean you’d terrorize them into running off in fright. You’ve both already made quite an impression on them, rest assured of that.”

“Oh, and you didn’t terrorize them, eh? Not even a little?”

“Well,” Aramis grinned, “maybe a little. But some of them just need a little extra instruction, one-on-one. You know how it is when you just get started. It’s all about trying to prove yourself when you don’t yet have the skills to prove anything. It’s all nerves and fear that someone will realize you have no idea what you’re doing. When I saw them, I just…” he trailed off, eyes narrowing as he seemed to search for the words that danced just outside his reach.

“You remembered what it was like to be a new recruit, and you wanted to help them,” Athos said simply.

Aramis nodded. “I suppose I did.”

Porthos sighed. “You’re a good man, Aramis. An’ a good teacher for those recruits. But you’re shit at takin’ care of yourself and askin’ for help when you need it.”

Aramis chuckled weakly. “Yes, I suppose I am.”

Athos patted him on the shoulder, regarding him with a smile. “Get some sleep, my friend.”

“Well…” Aramis hemmed and hawed, “maybe I’ll just rest for a few moments.”

To no one’s surprise, a few moments turned into most of the afternoon. Porthos sat with him, swearing he’d keep their troublesome friend in bed by force if necessary, and Athos eventually wandered off to check the training schedules in Tréville’s office. He was sure he could come up with a rotation that would be more beneficial than the current arrangement.

It was near supper time when the rest of the regiment began to return from the palace. Athos exchanged a few words with Cornet (Tréville himself remained at the Louvre) and was assured that nothing else had gone amiss during the afternoon. With that done, Athos turned toward the kitchens to fetch some supper for himself and Porthos before returning to Aramis’s room.

“Uh, sir?” Athos turned at the voice to see one of the new recruits—Lemaire wasn’t it? The one he trounced in training some time back?

From the look of him, he’d found today to be equally difficult, as the recruit nearly drooped with fatigue, face flushed from the heat and clothes dusty from his long day of guard duty. Behind him, his fellow recruits dragged themselves off to the kitchens, or in some cases, they bypassed the kitchens to head straight to their bunks. Exhaustion was part of the life of a recruit. They’d toughen up in time, grow used to the demands of soldier’s life.

“Sir?” Lemaire asked again.

“Yes. What is it?” Athos knew his tone was sharp, but he couldn’t help himself. His mind was elsewhere, on his ill friend tucked away upstairs.

“I wished to ask after Monsieur Aramis?”

Athos’s gaze snapped back to the recruit, narrowing his eyes as a scowl worked its way across his face. “Why?”

Lemaire swallowed heavily. “He did not remain at the palace until the end of the day. I wondered—”

“That is not your concern.”

Lemaire paled at the steel in the musketeer’s voice. “Ye-yes, sir. I mean no disrespect. Nor do I mean to pry. I only wished…”

“Yes? Wished what?” Athos prompted. “Speak up, recruit.”

He took a breath. “Monsieur Aramis has been a great help to me. His training…well, he helped me a great deal.  I hadn’t realized how much until today, and I wished to thank him for his advice, and for the extra lessons. He didn’t have to spend the extra time with me, but…I’m grateful that he did.” Lemaire took another breath, making the effort to meet Athos’s eyes as he continued. “I meant to thank him when I was released from duty at the palace, but Monsieur Aramis was already gone.”

Athos gave him a tight smile. He suspected it was more frightening than encouraging, but as usual, Athos couldn’t be bothered to care. “I shall deliver your message. Thank you, recruit.”

Lemaire nodded, awkwardly shifting his weight from one foot to another. Athos was fairly certainly that his tone of voice was as clear of a dismissal as he could give, but the recruit hesitated as though he wished to say more.

Athos, uncharacteristically, decided to take pity on him. “I’m sure your message will be appreciated,” he said, his tone almost approximating gentleness. “Aramis is a fine musketeer. You’d do well to learn all you can from him.”

Lemaire smiled and nodded. “Yes, sir.”

Athos turned away and back to his task, collected supper from the kitchen before he made his way back up the stairs to Aramis’s room. He was sleeping peaceful now, with Porthos sat at the table nearby, nursing a glass of wine. He nodded to Athos and kicked out the chair beside him. Athos quickly took advantage of the silent invitation, placing the tray of food on the table and reaching to pour himself a glass of wine.

Athos thought briefly of the recruit he’d just left behind in the courtyard as he looked over at Aramis, lying quietly on the bed. What he’d said was true. Any of those recruits would be lucky to learn from Aramis. Just so long as they didn’t pick up on his skills at self-preservation. The last thing they needed were more reckless musketeers running around. He thought of what the garrison would be like with a bunch of little Aramises gallivanting about and shuddered, taking a long drink of wine.

“Porthos, perhaps we should assist Aramis with the training sessions after all.”

“Yeah?” Porthos asked.

“Yes. After all, we wouldn’t want the recruits learning any bad habits.”

Porthos grinned. “I do believe you’re right, my friend.” They clinked glasses, sharing a conspiratorial smile as Aramis snored peacefully in the background.


End file.
